The New Collected Short Stories (16 page)

W
HENEVER
R
UTH
looked back on the past three years – and she often did – she came to the conclusion that Max must
have planned everything right down to the last detail – yes, even before they’d met.

They first bumped into each other by accident – or that’s what Ruth assumed at the time – and to be fair to Max it wasn’t the two of them, but their boats, that had
bumped into each other.

Sea Urchin
was easing its way into the adjoining mooring in the half-light of the evening when the two bows touched. Both skippers quickly checked to see if there had been any damage to
their boat, but as both had large inflatable buoys slung over their sides, neither had come to any harm. The owner of
The Scottish Belle
gave a mock salute and disappeared below deck.

Max poured himself a gin and tonic, picked up a paperback that he had meant to finish the previous summer, and settled down in the bow. He began to thumb through the pages, trying to recall the
exact place he had reached, when the skipper of
The Scottish Belle
reappeared on the deck.

The older man gave the same mock salute, so Max lowered his book and said, ‘Good evening. Sorry about the bump.’

‘No harm done,’ the skipper replied, raising his glass of whisky.

Max rose from his place and, walking across to the side of the boat, thrust out a hand and said, ‘My name’s Max Bennett.’

‘Angus Henderson,’ the older man replied, with a slight Edinburgh burr.

‘You live in these parts, Angus?’ asked Max casually.

‘No,’ replied Angus. ‘My wife and I live on Jersey, but our twin boys are at school here on the south coast, so we sail across at the end of every term and take them back for
their holidays. And you? Do you live in Brighton?’

‘No, London, but I come down whenever I can find the time to do a spot of sailing, which I fear isn’t often enough – as you’ve already discovered,’ he added with a
chuckle, as a woman appeared from below the deck of
The Scottish Belle
.

Angus turned and smiled. ‘Ruth, this is Max Bennett. We literally bumped into each other.’

Max smiled across at a woman who could have passed as Henderson’s daughter, as she was at least twenty years younger than her husband. Although not beautiful, she was striking, and from
her trim, athletic build she looked as if she might work out every day. She gave Max a shy smile.

‘Why don’t you join us for a drink?’ suggested Angus.

‘Thank you,’ said Max, and clambered across onto the larger boat. He leaned forward and shook Ruth’s hand. ‘How nice to meet you, Mrs Henderson.’

‘Ruth, please. Do you live in Brighton?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Max. ‘I was just telling your husband that I only come down for the odd weekend to do a little sailing. And what do you do on Jersey?’ he asked, turning his
attention back to Angus. ‘You certainly weren’t born there.’

‘No, we moved there from Edinburgh after I retired seven years ago. I used to manage a small broking business. All I do nowadays is keep an eye on one or two of my family properties to
make sure they’re showing a worthwhile return, sail a little and play the occasional round of golf. And you?’ he enquired.

‘Not unlike you, but with a difference.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’ asked Ruth.

‘I also look after property, but it belongs to other people. I’m a junior partner with a West End estate agent.’

‘How are property prices in London at the moment?’ asked Angus after another gulp of whisky.

‘It’s been a bad couple of years for most agents – no one wants to sell, and only foreigners can afford to buy. And anybody whose lease comes up for renewal demands that their
rent should be lowered, while others are simply defaulting.’

Angus laughed. ‘Perhaps you should move to Jersey. At least that way you would avoid . . .’

‘We ought to think about getting changed, if we’re not going to be late for the boys’ concert,’ interrupted Ruth.

Henderson checked his watch. ‘Sorry, Max,’ he said. ‘Nice to talk to you, but Ruth’s right. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Max. He smiled, placed his glass on a nearby table and clambered back onto his own boat as the Hendersons disappeared below deck.

Once again, Max picked up his much-thumbed novel, and although he finally found the right place, he discovered he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Thirty minutes later the Hendersons
reappeared, suitably dressed for a concert. Max gave them a casual wave as they stepped onto the quay and into a waiting taxi.

When Ruth appeared on the deck the following morning, clutching a cup of tea, she was disappointed to find that
Sea Urchin
was no longer moored next to them. She was
about to disappear back below deck when she thought she recognised a familiar boat entering the harbour.

She didn’t move as she watched the sail become larger and larger, hoping that Max would moor in the same spot as he had the previous evening. He waved when he saw her standing on the deck.
She pretended not to notice.

Once he’d fixed the moorings, he called across, ‘So, where’s Angus?’

‘Gone to pick up the boys and take them off to a rugby match. I’m not expecting him back until this evening,’ she added unnecessarily.

Max tied a bowline to the jetty, looked up and said, ‘Then why don’t you join me for lunch, Ruth? I know a little Italian restaurant that the tourists haven’t come across
yet.’

Ruth pretended to be considering his offer, and eventually said, ‘Yes, why not?’

‘Shall we meet up in half an hour?’ Max suggested.

‘Suits me,’ replied Ruth.

Ruth’s half-hour turned out to be nearer fifty minutes, so Max returned to his paperback, but once again made little progress.

When Ruth did eventually reappear, she had changed into a black leather mini-skirt, a white blouse and black stockings, and had put on a little too much make-up, even for Brighton.

Max looked down at her legs. Not bad for thirty-eight, he thought, even if the skirt was a little too tight and certainly too short.

‘You look great,’ he said, trying to sound convincing. ‘Shall we go?’

Ruth joined him on the quay, and they strolled towards the town, chatting inconsequentially until he turned down a side street, coming to a halt in front of a restaurant called Venitici. When he
opened the door to let her in, Ruth couldn’t hide her disappointment at discovering how crowded the room was. ‘We’ll never get a table,’ she said.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Max, as the maître d’ headed towards them.

‘Your usual table, Mr Bennett?’

‘Thank you, Valerio,’ he said, as they were guided to a quiet table in the corner of the room.

Once they were seated, Max asked, ‘What would you like to drink, Ruth? A glass of champagne?’

‘That would be nice,’ she said, as if it were an everyday experience for her. In fact she rarely had a glass of champagne before lunch, as it would never have crossed Angus’s
mind to indulge in such extravagance, except perhaps on her birthday.

Max opened the menu. ‘The food here is always excellent, especially the gnocchi, which Valerio’s wife makes. Simply melts in your mouth.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Ruth, not bothering to open her menu.

‘And a mixed salad on the side, perhaps?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

Max closed his menu and looked across the table. ‘The boys can’t be yours,’ he said. ‘Not if they’re at boarding school.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ruth coyly.

‘Why . . . because of Angus’s age. I suppose I just assumed they must be his by a previous marriage.’

‘No,’ said Ruth, laughing. ‘Angus didn’t marry until he was in his forties, and I was very flattered when he asked me to be his wife.’

Max made no comment.

‘And you?’ asked Ruth, as a waiter offered her a choice of four different types of bread.

‘Been married four times,’ Max said.

Ruth looked shocked, until he burst out laughing.

‘In truth, never,’ he said quietly. ‘I suppose I just haven’t bumped into the right girl.’

‘But you’re still young enough to have any woman you like,’ said Ruth.

‘I’m older than you,’ said Max gallantly.

‘It’s different for a man,’ said Ruth wistfully.

The maître d’ reappeared by their side, a little pad in his hand.

‘Two gnocchi and a bottle of your Barolo,’ said Max, handing back the menu. ‘And a side salad large enough for both of us: asparagus, avocado, lettuce heart – you know
what I like.’

‘Of course, Mr Bennett,’ replied Valerio.

Max turned his attention back to his guest. ‘Doesn’t someone of your age find Jersey a little dull?’ he asked as he leaned across the table and pushed back a strand of blonde
hair that had fallen across her forehead.

Ruth smiled shyly. ‘It has its advantages,’ she replied a little unconvincingly.

‘Like what?’ pressed Max.

‘Tax at 20 per cent.’

‘That sounds like a good reason for Angus being on Jersey – but not you. In any case, I’d still rather be in England and pay 40 per cent.’

‘Now that he’s retired and living on a fixed income, it suits us. If we’d stayed in Edinburgh, we couldn’t have maintained the same standard of living.’

‘So, Brighton’s as good as it gets,’ said Max, with a grin.

The maître d’ reappeared carrying two plates of gnocchi, which he placed in front of them, while another waiter deposited a large side salad in the centre of the table.

‘I’m not complaining,’ said Ruth, as she sipped her champagne. ‘Angus has always been very considerate. I want for nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Max repeated, as a hand disappeared under the table and rested on her knee.

Ruth knew that she should have removed it immediately, but she didn’t.

When Max eventually took his hand away and began to concentrate on the gnocchi, Ruth tried to act as if nothing had happened.

‘Anything worth seeing in the West End?’ she asked casually. ‘I’m told
An Inspector Calls
is good.’

‘It certainly is,’ replied Max. ‘I went to the opening night.’

‘Oh, when was that?’ asked Ruth innocently.

‘About five years ago,’ Max replied.

Ruth laughed. ‘So, now that you know just how out of date I am, you can tell me what I should be seeing.’

‘There’s a new Tom Stoppard opening next month.’ He paused. ‘If you were able to escape for a couple of days, we could go and see it together.’

‘It’s not that easy, Max. Angus expects me to stay with him on Jersey. We don’t come to the mainland all that often.’

Max stared down at her empty plate. ‘It looks as if the gnocchi lived up to my claims.’

Ruth nodded her agreement.

‘You should try the
crême brulée,
also made by the patron’s wife.’

‘Certainly not. This trip already means I’m going to be out of the gym for at least three days, so I’ll settle for a coffee,’ said Ruth, as another glass of champagne was
placed by her side. She frowned.

‘Just pretend it’s your birthday,’ Max said, as the hand disappeared back under the table – this time resting a few inches higher up her thigh.

Looking back, that was the moment when she should have got up and walked out.

‘So, how long have you been an estate agent?’ she asked instead, still trying to pretend nothing was happening.

‘Since I left school. I started at the bottom of the firm, making the tea, and last year I became a partner.’

‘Congratulations. Where is your office?’

‘Right in the centre of Mayfair. Why don’t you drop in some time? Perhaps when you’re next in London.’

‘I don’t get to London all that often,’ Ruth said.

When Max spotted a waiter heading towards their table, he removed the hand from her leg. Once the waiter had placed two cappuccinos in front of them, Max smiled up at him and said, ‘And
perhaps I could have the bill.’

‘Are you in a hurry?’ Ruth asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just remembered that I have a bottle of vintage brandy hidden away on board
Sea Urchin
, and this might be the ideal occasion to open
it.’ He leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘You know, I’ve been saving this particular bottle for something or someone special.’

‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

‘Do you always do everything that is wise?’ asked Max, not letting go of her hand.

‘It’s just that I really ought to be getting back to
The Scottish Belle
.’

‘So you can hang around for three hours, waiting for Angus to return?’

‘No. It’s just that . . .’

‘You’re afraid I might try to seduce you.’

‘Is that what you had in mind?’ asked Ruth, releasing his hand.

‘Yes, but not before we sample the brandy,’ said Max, as he was passed the bill. He flicked over the little white slip, pulled out his wallet and placed four £10 notes on the
silver tray.

Angus had once told her that anyone who pays cash in a restaurant either doesn’t need a credit card or earns too little to qualify for one.

Max rose from his place, thanked the head waiter a little too ostentatiously, and slipped him a £5 note when the door was held open for them. They didn’t speak as they crossed the
road on the way back to the quay. Ruth thought she saw someone jumping off
Sea Urchin
, but when she looked again there was no one in sight. When they reached the boat, Ruth had planned to
say goodbye, but she found herself following Max on board and down to the cabin below.

‘I hadn’t expected it to be so small,’ she said, when she reached the bottom step. She turned a complete circle and ended up in Max’s arms. She gently pushed him
away.

‘It’s ideal for a bachelor,’ was his only comment, as he poured two large brandies. He passed over one of the goblets to Ruth, placing his other arm around her waist. He pulled
her gently towards him, allowing their bodies to touch. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, before releasing her to take a sip of brandy.

He watched as she raised the glass to her lips, and then once again took her in his arms. This time when they kissed, their lips parted, and she made little effort to stop him undoing the top
button of her blouse.